


First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 22: Fire and Siblings.

by SkiesOverTokyo



Series: FirstFan NaNoWriMo Drabbles [23]
Category: First Fantasy (Webcomic)
Genre: Backstory, Dragons, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 08:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkiesOverTokyo/pseuds/SkiesOverTokyo
Summary: A little more Nura and Larsa back-story.





	First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 22: Fire and Siblings.

Nura had begun to suspect something was going on, long before he made his discovery. When one has been in close proximity to a sibling from the day they were born, one tended to recognise little shifts in their temperament. And, but for small gaps where Lord Hnifur had taken his eldest son across the lands that comprised his dukedom, spreading as they did between the border to the neutral lands ruled over by the Capital to the South and Lord Alfred’s lands to the North, Nura and Larsa had been inseparable as children, and even as young adults, still spent far more time in each other’s company than with any other playmates.  
  
This was, to be fair, down to Castle Hnifur not having many children to start with. A few stable boys, already growing into their roles, a couple of squires. No children that Nura and Larsa could play with, though, by the time  that both of them had reached their teens, a slightly different game, that with wooden swords and bows, was played between the two nobles and the younger men of the castle, both becoming fearsome hands at their chosen tools, Nura, the sword, Larsa the hammer-to call the latter, merely a heavy block of wood on a long shaft that left bruises that took weeks to fade, such a name was a stretch, but they were too afraid of it to say anything.   
  
Even after a younger brother was born, followed by a younger sister, there was nearly a decade between the two of them, a gap forced by the long years away at war and at parliament, so that, by the time that he returned from both, it could hardly be hidden that his once thick black mane of hair had picked up several streaks of wolfish grey, which only grew as he moved back and forth between Parliament and Castle Hnifur, on the beck and call of the Emperor himself. Nura, by this point, began to accompany his father, began to realise that, by the time he was a man, he would be taking his father’s place, began to get a taste for politics. How much of a taste surprised even the young Marquis.   
  
Within months, Parliament was more than often surprised to see a young man, barely old enough to grow a beard, address it on occasion, show a cunning and political aptitude that intrigued, worried, and impressed those who made up the Grand Imperial Parliament. People began to take note of the name Nura Hnifur, began to include the young lordling in their discussions, and bit by bit, Nura began to build up an idea of what one could do with power, the various factions and blocks in the Parliament, from those who wished to rein the Emperor in more, or to include him in his discussions, to a block bent on making the Empire as powerful as possible, who even now set their eyes across the sea, and who believed the Emperor’s eldest son, Varya, a nasty, vicious little boy, was their key.  
  
Throughout this first blooding in Imperial power, Nura and Larsa wrote constantly to each other, debating points that Nura would later bring up, sharing their interests-Larsa was busy at work on some long-form poem about the formation of the Empire, as suggested by their father, a man at ease with sword as pen as paintbrush in hand-Nura had taken up going to see plays at one of the many theatres around the Capital, as well as indulging his interests in architecture and gardens, sketching out, into the small hours, a map of a garden imitating the mountainous landscape and black sand shores of Hnifur, but on a miniature scale, elements represented by fine sand from the beaches, and with rocks representing the mountains, placed carefully across the sands.   
  
But as of late, her letters had grown short, and letters to their old tutor who now taught Nura’s younger brother and sister, Jean, raven haired as his father and Umi, golden as her mother, gleaned nothing, but an odd interest in what lay in the mountains above the castle. They’d gone up there as children but their reconnoitres had gleaned nothing but tired legs and late nights walking down to the glow of the castle in the valley below. A boy was unlikely-she’d shown less interest in them than Nura had, and the castle had even fewer girls of her age-they’d always been honest in their letters on _that_ regard.   
  
So something was on her mind. The poem was possible, but Nura had sent her books back on the famous bards of the era, with the birds he sent the short 50 league distance, so he hoped it wasn’t that. She’d made no indication of any absence, or other work she was busy on-they’d agreed not to mention the garden to father before the spring, still several months away, through the depths of winter. But what it was, for once, stumped Nura. He would get answers when he got home.

Parliament broke up for the winter, some of its members having rides of many days north to their ancestral seats. On the ride home, Lord Hnifur was in high spirits indeed, the best Nura had seen him since he returned from war, tired and grey, and old. Now the grey was more like that of a wolf’s, just something that came with his age and experience as a soldier and politician. In the spring, they would both return to the capital, and Nura would begin to learn exactly how to begin to make use of the attention and admiration, and, his father added quickly, the contacts, he had made over the previous two seasons.  
  
Mother, Jean, and Umi were waiting for them on the battlements when they returned home, Umi and Jean, now nearly seven, excitedly waving-this was, to be fair, the longest that their big brother had been away in years. As they ran over, he pretended to stumble, then straightened up, and from within his cloak, produced a box containing small, beautifully carved wooden set of creatures, ranging from a little knight and a princess to a large dragon carved of a single piece of oak, and beautifully cut and shaped so that it moved just like the real thing. The twins hugged him again, and, Mother smiling indulgently, ran off to their room to play with this new found menagerie.  
  
Larsa was nowhere to be seen-Mother indicated about her saying she felt unwell at breakfast, though she had wolfed down enough bacon and sausages to feed a small army, before begging her pardon, and excusing herself from breakfast. No-one had seen her since. So, Nura walked the familiar route from the front gate to her room, wondering exactly what secret she could be hiding, found her door, and knocked.  
“I’m sorry” said her voice from within. “I’m not feeling very well. Can you come back later?”  
“It’s me” Nura hissed, “Look…what’s wrong, dearest Larsa?”  
Without another word from her, the door clicked open, a hand extended, and pulled him into the room, then locked the door again  
  
It was warm. No, not warm. Hot, stiflingly so. Even for the encroaching depth of winter, he’d never been in a room this warm-Larsa seemed to have every fire lit and blazing full. As for Larsa herself, she was stripped to a simple linen shirt, and leggings, hair tied back, sheened with sweat, and with what looked like a small burn on her arm.   
“What happened? Why is the room so hot? Are you ill?”  
  
She grinned in a tired way.  
“Never been better, brother dearest. I have something to show you. But it must stay a secret. I’m not sure what father will make of it, and I fear he may be angry.”  
So far, so nonsensical. It wasn’t poetry, for one.  
  
What it was revealed itself as soon as she stepped over to a mound of horse-blankets that sat dangerously close to the fire, pulled a few off the top. A sound like a cat being startled, and a pair of wings no wider than the span of Nura’s arms opened, flapped a few times in irritation, then folded down to lie against the back of what, unmistakably was a baby dragon, which now turned, to blink at Nura with large, interested eyes.  
“Nura, meet Ulrich.”  
“That’s…a dragon.”  
“Yup.”  
“But how?”  
Larsa ran a hand down the row of spines on his back  
“Where do I begin…?”


End file.
